Finiarel
by Anonymous Drottningu
Summary: Alan is a soldier who has escaped Galbatorix's prisons with the aid of a magic-wielding stranger, but what will he do now that the two most powerful armies in Alagaesia are both after him? Unexpected obstacles await if he can survive long enough-PreEragon
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**A/N: My first story. Please read. A bit short. I hope to update every week or so. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of this but parts of the plot and Alan. I won't re-write this every time; too lazy.**

_Swish!_ An arrow flew by Alan's head. He dove behind a book, pivoting to face the direction from which it had come. Nothing. He saw no movement in the warm, green forest. But where had the arrow come from?

_Whoosh!_ Another impaled itself in his robe, trapping it to the ground. Alan swore, ripping his clothing in an attempt to get to a more defendable position. The cheap fabric broke easily; something seemed wrong about that.

Suddenly, an Urgal charged out of no where with a bloodcurdling war. Alan's hand instinctively moved to his belt, but his sword was gone. When the Urgal was almost upon him, he rolled to his right, running into a tree trunk. His vision became black momentarily; by the time it recovered all he could see was the Urgal's club.

"Ahh!" he yelled, trying to sit up. Strong metal bonds prevented any movement. He was strapped to a slab of cold stone in one of Galbatorix's many prison cells.

Gasping, he tried to recall how he had gotten there. He knew that he had been captured by Galbatorix while attempting to reach the Varden, but when it came to recent events his memory was fuzzy. He was certain he hadn't been having a nightmare; it was more likely that the usurper had been messing with his senses. Galbatorix paid him special attention; he claimed there was a certain quality in Alan that few of his men had: leadership. For this reason Alan was tortured by none other than Galbatorix himself, who wanted Alan to swear loyalty to him in the Ancient Language.

Alan spent some time reminding himself what he thought was real and what wasn't. He knew for certain he had been born in the small village of Yazuac, raised as a trader who brought goods from Dras-Leona in the winter and farmed his family's small fields in the summer. Being one of the only healthy males around the age of 20, he had been selected to join the army. However, he did not want to fight for Galbatorix. Galbatorix had done nothing for him. He made Alan's family pay a nearly impossible amount of tax, and because of him the legendary golden age of the Dragon Riders had ended. Now, Urgals terrorized the countryside, and there were rumors of a Shade—although of course those weren't to be believed.

Alan had been caught deserting the army to join the Varden. After spending half a year training, he had sneaked off out of the camp. He had not been caught because he had been noticed; a fellow soldier who he had told his plans to had betrayed him for money. Now he was in the Galbatorix's dungeons, and the king himself had seen fit to torment Alan. At first, Galbatorix had given him a long speech about the glory of the Empire and the stupidity of the Varden. When Alan refused to submit, he had a servant bring in a magically heated iron to cause him pain. After nearly a month of this, Alan managed to escape his cell when the man who was sent to feed him came, but he was captured outside the doors by none other than Galbatorix, on his way to another prisoner. Once the madman subdued him with magic, he added a new torture session to Alan's schedule, in addition to the iron: the king would, at random times throughout the day, manipulate Alan's mind to deceive or terrify him. At first, the king was focused on trying to trick him into swearing fealty, or just trying to make him despair, but Alan saw through the deception in one of the earlier sessions, when one of the Varden's spies was rescuing him; the man had no nose! Then the king spent most of the sessions on terrifying Alan and trying to weaken his resolve, with a few attempted trickeries (?). The pain Alan had felt was worse than anything he could imagine. Even after the sessions he couldn't remember how bad it was. It had been like this for many months, more than Alan could keep track of. He didn't even know the state of affairs in his homeland.

Footsteps came from the corridor outside. Alan didn't think much of it: there were many cells in the castle, and the unknown person could be going to any one of them. But then he heard brief snatches of conversation with a guard near his cell, and the rattle of keys in the lock on his door. The door opened and a brown leather boot appeared in his field of vision.

**A/N: I like cliffhangers when I'm the author. I should update by Sunday, though. Please review and leave suggestions!**


	2. Chapter 2

__**Chapter 2**

**Wow, that was surprisingly fast. Here you go, and it's a lot longer, too. By the way, the structure of Uru'baen was wildskysong's idea. His/Her stories are really good, especially Eldunari and Edoc'sil. Some other stories I'd recommend are Overcome, by LOTRanger, and An Enemy's Heart, by . If you haven't read any of these, they are great, and you probably should. The beginning may be a bit confusing if you have not read the last line of the first chapter after I updated it soon after I published it. It only says the boots were brown.**

_What?_ I thought. Galbatorix's boots were black, and his jailer wore shoes, not boots (no thing going up calves).

"Don't worry," said a voice. "I'm here to help."

"Yeah right," I croaked, my voice hoarse from not being used. "I'll believe that when you set me free."

"That's what I'm doing," he replied, undoing the clasp on my left wrist. Once he had freed me, I stumbled towards him.

"How do I know you're not an illusion created by Galbatorix?" I challenged. I inspected my rescuer. He wore a brown leather tunic, brown leather leggings, brown leather boots, and a brown leather cape. He also had a brown leather belt with several pouches, a dagger, and a sword. In his hand was a halberd, presumably taken from the guard outside.

"I can touch your mind and prove it, if you will allow me."

"What!" I gasped. People could examine my mind! The thought was terrifying. It meant Galbatorix knew everything about me, although there wasn't much to know. It explained his meddling with my senses, though.

"If you don't want me to, I don't have to," reassured the stranger.

"I'd rather not," I said. "This 'touch mind' thing is new to me."

"Okay."

"Why are you here? And why did you talk with the guard outside?"

"No time for a proper explanation. I'm a spy for the Varden, and I heard that you were getting special treatment. I came to investigate. This will ruin my cover, so I hope you're worth it. So let's go."

Doubtfully, I followed him out the door and into the dark, smelly corridor, where the guard was lying unconscious. At least I wouldn't be in a worse position if it was an illusion. We ran—or, in my case, stumbled—towards the exit. Miraculously, we met no guards on the way. Some prisoners moaned as we raced by, but we ignored them. We finally reached a door.

"On the other side of this door is a group of guards," whispered my rescuer. "I'll hold them off while you open a window. Jump as soon as you can. I'll use magic to prevent you from dying." He handed me his dagger and kicked the door open.

"Escaping prisoners!" yelled a guard with faster reactions than the others, who were standing shocked. He charged forward at the stranger, who impaled the guard with the tip of his halberd, which passed through the guard's armor easily.

I ducked a slash from a nearby soldier's sword and managed a clumsy roll towards a window. The stranger followed me, effortlessly holding back the enemies with his long weapon. Springing to my feet, I jumped out of the window.

"Ahh!" I screamed as I plummeted so quickly I had to shut my eyes. What if the stranger had been part of an elaborate plot to kill me? But no, it would have been much easier to just poison my food. Even Galbatorix wouldn't have had his own men get killed just so I would die. The last of my doubts faded away as my speed suddenly decreased, and I was able to examine my surroundings about a hundred feet above the ground.

The castle itself was very large, made of stone and obviously built for defense, although it had a strange dark beauty as well. I could almost sense evil emanating from it. Around the castle were many large houses with even bigger gardens, most likely the houses of nobles. So this was the Upper City. Further out was a tall, circular wall, beyond which I could not see, although from what I knew of Uru'baen, past the wall was probably the homes of merchants, the barracks, the middle class homes, and the marketplace, together known as the Middle City. Then, another wall, the homes of the poor, called the Lower City, and the enormous outer wall.

As I was now nearer to the ground, I had to focus more on the matter at hand than the structure of the city. A few soldiers were rushing towards where we would land. Suddenly, the stranger shot past me and halted right above the floor, drifting slowly for a few seconds until his feet touched the cobblestones of a road. My descent also slowed when I got closer, and when I landed I gripped my dagger, prepared to fight.

"No. We run," said the stranger, who dropped his halberd. "If we fight, more will come and we will both be killed."

I sprinted between the mansions of the rich, tiring quickly because of a long time with no exercise. The stranger quickly caught up, and he slowed his pace to match mine. A robed man with much jewelry stood in our path, but when he saw us he yelped and dodged out of the way.

"You go ahead," I wheezed. "I can't keep up. Save…save yourself."

"No," he replied. "I lost my position to save you. I'm not going back to the Varden with nothing to show for my efforts."

I nodded, and tried to increase my speed, but I was just too tired. I didn't think I could make it.

Then, I felt my energy rise, as if somehow, someone was sending me a small thread of it. Sadly, it didn't decrease my hunger.

"Is that you?" I asked the stranger.

"If you mean the energy, yes. Now focus on running."

My speed had increased by a bit now, but the enemy was still catching up, since we were two people using the strength of about one and a third, while each of them had his own energy. I had no doubt I could have escaped if this was before my imprisonment, but I had been starved and spent my time shackled to a rock.

We were now approaching the wall. Four soldiers with spears rushed from the gate, forming a barrier to block us. The stranger drew his sword in a fluid motion, and when we were about two yards from the spears, he _jumped—_higher than I'd ever seen anyone jump, almost ten feet straight up. The soldiers appeared just as startled as I was, because they lowered their spears slightly, and their jaws dropped in shock. The distraction gave me a chance to stab one of them, and by the time the others turned to face me, the stranger had landed. He killed two men with one stroke of his sword, which ripped through the armor as if it was not there, and the remaining soldier turned to flee. Apparently something prevented him, though, and he turned to kill us, a terrified expression on his face.

"Deyja!" shouted the stranger. The soldier fell to the ground, dead.

"There they are!" we heard. The men from the castle had caught up to us.

"Brisingir!" commanded the stranger. A wall of fire appeared before the soldiers, who yelled and backed up. It would not detain them for long, though; it was already beginning to fade. We continued away from the castle at a steady jog, passing through the gate and meeting another group of four on the other side.

The stranger simply said something, in that strange language he had used before, and they all dropped dead. It was quite a bit longer than the previous ones, though, and I was unable to remember it.

"Halt!" someone yelled. Not even pausing to look, I sprinted through the streets, reaching the marketplace. I jumped over a barrel of fruit, shoved aside a man who got in my way, dove underneath a table, scrambled out the other side, and finally reached a relatively open area in the middle. Unfortunately, I was now surrounded by soldiers, and the stranger was nowhere in sight.

"Drop the weapon and hold your hands high!" demanded an older man with a large moustache. Instead, I leapt at one of the younger soldiers to my right, who looked like he had never seen a battle. As I expected, he was too surprised to stop me as I kicked him into a bin of fish and took his spear. Spinning around, I let out a ferocious shout that came out as more of a strangled cough and rolled under a flap of canvas. The soldiers gave chase, but in this maze of obstacles and hiding places I was able to escape and reach the streets once more, headed towards the next gate.

As I arrived, I saw a squad of men on horseback. I swore silently. I would never be able to outrun them, and they would no doubt notice I was being chased. The first to see me spurred his horse forward. The others soon followed, and I had no doubt I would have soon died if a spear had not flown out of nowhere, impaled two horses, and suddenly start blazing, scaring the others away. The riders of the two remaining mounts were not very lucky, however, and one fell as his horse bolted, while the other was killed by my knife, which I had thrown. The stranger appeared, as if out of nowhere, and managed to calm the fleeing horse, while I quickly mounted the other.

"Quick!" he yelled. "There are many more guards at the outer gate!"

I managed to spur my mount into a gallop, slowly gaining on the stranger. We zoomed through the gate, but it became harder to navigate as we reached the demented back streets of the Lower layer of the city. Many thin, obviously starving men lay around in the streets, begging for money. Luckily, the horse seemed accustomed to this, and navigated the streets reasonably well. We soon reached the outer gate, and in front of us was an entire battalion of soldiers, accompanied by a robed stranger who I could only assume was a mage.

The stranger shouted in that weird language again, but nothing happened this time besides a visible decrease in the mage's strength, as well as the stranger's. This bothered me, because I was not yet used to the whole magic thing.

The soldier nearest to me was rapidly getting closer. He had a long spear and large shield, and was part of the first rank. The second had short swords, the third were mainly archers, who were already preparing to fire.

"Surrender, and you may have a chance to live!" someone said.

"I'd rather die!" shouted the stranger.

When my horse neared the spears, it sped up. I leveled my spear at the enemy's head. However, his was longer by two or three feet, and I was forced to stop. He lunged, but my mount pranced backwards, avoiding the deadly point of the spear. I took advantage of my opponent's vulnerability (since he was now off balance) and jumped forward, leaping from my horse's back, but I had forgotten the others, and would have been shot full of arrows if they had not been stopped in midair by the strangers magic. Once I landed, I quickly stabbed the soldier's unprotected throat, and killed the swordsman behind him, the same way, then taking his sword. Because this was a close-quarters fight, I dropped my spear and hacked away at the enemy, but I did not have strength to break their armor. Because of the chaos and confusion, I could did not have time to find a slit in their armor. Gradually, I was pushed back, losing because of their numbers and my exhaustion. But when one swordsman ventured past the spears, my good horse trampled him with his hooves.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the stranger having some sort of mental struggle with the mage, while holding off a few soldiers. I turned my attention back to the matter at hand, but I soon received a nasty cut on my right arm, my sword arm, that bled profusely (he doesn't have wards; the stranger only cast a spell to stop the arrows.). Thankfully, it didn't hurt yet, and amazingly all the soldiers around me suddenly died. I looked for the stranger, and found him. His clothing was a bit bloody now, but not with his own blood. He had apparently been victorious in his mental duel.

Becoming aware of our situation again, we both leapt on our horses and sped out of the gate. Arrows fell around us, but none found their mark, and after about twenty miles we let our horses slow down, since they seemed on the point of collapse.

I very suddenly realized I was free, and my exhilaration was indescribable. I won't even try. Free! Finally, after months of imprisonment and torture, I was FREE!

**I might not update for a week or two. Sorry. Please Review! If I feel that no one is reading this, I will discontinue the story.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: The story is in first person now. I know on the map of Alagaesia, there does not seem to be forest to the east of Urubaen, but I was lazy. **

I slid off my horse, still trying to wrap my head around the thought. When I had been free, I had never thought much of it. Once I was imprisoned, I dreamed of it for a few months, but later my optimism gave way to a sort of half-depressed state. The idea of freedom had never entered my mind for a long time. It felt strange. Good, but strange.

I examined the spot the stranger had chosen to camp. We were in the middle of a small clearing in the woods to the east of Uru'baen. Bit strange to use that name; I was still more used to Illrea. The clearing was large enough so that anyone trying to sneak up on us would have to go through some open ground, but small enough so it would be hard to find us and we could escape into the forest easily. Some fallen trees I spotted near here could be used for firewood, and I faintly heard the chatter of a stream in nearby.

After I had gotten firewood and started a fire, and the stranger had collected water in a waterskin from his pouches, I set my sword to the side and began to question him.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"I do not think I can trust you enough yet, but for now you may call me…Merek."

"Okay. But how do I know I can trust _you_?"

"I did save you from Galbatorix."

"You could be part of an elaborate plot to extract an oath of loyalty from me."

"I might not be. I'm a spy for the Varden who has just given up his position to free you. Good enough?"

"The Varden…do you know where they are?"

"I cannot tell you until I know your intentions."

"Then it seems we cannot trust each other, yet we must work together to leave this area and find a safe haven."

"You could allow me to examine your mind, and I could let you look at my memories. That would solve the problem."

"Yes. I'll have to think about that, though."

The stranger—Merek—grunted, and took out some smoked lamb meat from a pouch. He handed me a couple pieces, which I accepted (they were not likely to be poisoned, since if the king or Merek wanted him dead they could have used much easier, more efficient methods) and chewed while thinking. They were a bit tough and stringy, and also not very flavorful, but they would sustain us for a while.

I contemplated the idea of letting someone look at my mind, seeing my innermost thoughts. What if he was evil? Could he perhaps take control of my body and force me to swear an oath to serve Galbatorix? Even if I did realize he had such intentions as I looked at his memories, I had no doubt I would lose a mental struggle, as I did not even know how one was supposed to go about doing such things. But if I didn't let him, we would be unable to trust each other. I, for one, knew that I would not be able to sleep if there was a possibility of him betraying me.

Finally, I decided the benefits of mutual trust outweighed the possible dangers, and if I was bound to Galbatorix I'd just have to resist him in any way possible.

"I've decided," I declared. Judging from Merek's reaction, it was a bit sudden; he jumped and nearly fell into the fire.

"What?" he asked.

"I've decided. You can do the mind thing."

"Okay," he said, appearing slightly relieved. "You might not recognize the sensation at first; I'll tell you when I look at your mind."

_Hello,_ I heard, as if from inside my head. I looked around wildly. Where was the voice coming from?

_I'm Merek. This is what it's like when someone is communicating through thought. Just think your thoughts, and I'll hear them._

Okay, I thought. What do I have to do to show you my intentions?

_Nothing. I can see them. You have obviously not been taught to shield your mind._

A slight sense of disapproval came from the alien thing I realized was Merek's consciousness.

_Are you done?_ I asked.

_Yes. Here are my memories…_

_Flash!_ Elves, gracefully walking about a wonderful city of trees.

_Flash! _Learning sword fighting and magic from an old, skilled elf.

_Flash!_ Fighting against the Empire, protecting Ellesmera.

_Flash! _Two old, dead elves with terrible wounds, my mother and father, lying on the forest floor, killed by Kialandi and Formora, both members of the Wyrdfell.

_Flash!_ Taking an oath in front of the Varden, the first elf to join, swearing to defy the Empire with every breath.

_Flash! _ A group of soldiers training in the mountains, and a sense of hopelessness.

_Flash!_ A bearded man issuing orders to me, who felt satisfaction and pride.

_Flash!_ A young man, who I recognized, in a jail cell, being tortured by the mad king himself. Perhaps he could help the Varden?

_Flash! _Running from soldiers, knowing if I escaped, but not the prisoner, Brom would be disappointed.

_Flash!_ Racing out of Uru'baen on horseback.

I staggered, returning to my body. The sudden rush of memories was overwhelming. I sorted through the ones I remembered, realizing Merek was an elf. It seemed his parents had died during the war between Galbatorix and the Riders, and his want for revenge had caused him to join the Varden. As far as I could tell, he had no harmful intentions towards me.

"So?" I asked. "Do you trust me now?"

"Enough to tell you my name," he replied. "I am Istalir (Istalri means 'flame')."

"I am Alan."

"I was aware of that."

"How come you are an elf, and yet your ears are round?"

"Magic. I could not pretend to be an elf serving Galbatorix. None of our race would ever do such a thing."

"What about the Forsworn?"

"The Wyrdfell? They are no longer considered members of our society."

"But they are still elves."

"Do not say that to my people, lest they kill you for your impertinence and lack of knowledge. An elf who had not left Du Weldenvarden would take great offense at that."

I lay down contentedly, prepared for my first good rest since before I could remember.

"Who will take first watch?" I asked.

"You need not worry about that. I do not need as much sleep as you, and I will set wards about us. If you wake up and do not see me, I am either hunting or…I think humans would call it meditating. Probably in a tree."

Contrary to my expectations, I fell asleep quickly, even though I still had plenty of adrenaline.

I groaned and stretched my arms. Bright light blinded me. Galbatorix was here to torture me! My jailer would not arrive this early.

I remembered the previous day's events, and calmed down. I looked around. Istalir was packing the few things we had.

"Hello," I said.

"Good morning. I see you have awakened at last. We should make haste; it is already midmorning, and I saw some of Galbatorix's soldiers coming through the area. You may want to take a drink of water from the spring. It is over there," he replied, pointing to the north.

I got up and took the dagger from my belt. I realized the handle had been digging into my back all night, and causing me discomfort.

"Here," I said, handing it to Istalir.

"You should keep it for now."

"Alright."

I walked north, picking up my sword from its position near the campfire. The undergrowth was thick, and I couldn't cut it for fear of leaving a clear mark showing our passage, but I managed to reach the stream with only a few cuts and scratches. I decided I would need a new set of clothing at the nearest town, as months of imprisonment and red-hot irons had left my leather tunic and pants in tatters.

I bent down to drink, savoring the feel of the cool liquid. I was so happy at my first drink of fresh water in nearly a year that I did not hear some bushes rustle, and before I knew it I felt a cold, sharp blade against my neck, and a voice in my ear whispered, "Stay still. Where is your companion?"

I rolled to the left, away from the arm with the knife, and pulled out my dagger.

"You dare?" hissed a lean, muscular man. He had been holding the knife. "Kill him!"

Arrows flew from the bushes, but thanks to the undergrowth only one found its mark. It grazed my upper arm as it passed, and I clenched my teeth. I turned to what I hoped was the camp and sprinted as well as I could, yelling out that the soldiers had found us.

I stumbled into the clearing we had been in, and saw only the two horses. I swore under my breath and hid behind one, pulling out my sword and sheathing the dagger.

"There he is!" A small group of soldiers came out of the forest.

"Surround him!" shouted the captain. Two soldiers went to the left and right, and one behind me, with amazing speed. The captain stayed in front.

_Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!_ Three arrows sprouted from the breastplates of three soldiers. The captain remained unharmed, but when he turned to flee, Istalir dropped in front of him, a sword in one hand, a bow in the other. I wondered where the bow had come from.

"Place your weapons on the floor," Istalir said calmly. The captain complied, hands trembling.

"I wouldn't go through the trouble of capturing you just to kill you," reassured Istalir. "How many search parties has Galbatorix sent in this direction, and how far have they got?"

"I'll-I'll never t-t-tell!" stuttered the captain.

"Then you shall die." Istalir put the point of his sword at the captain's neck.

"A-alright, you w-win! Five parties l-like-like my own in four different q-quadrants. I don't kn-kn-know how far the other p-p-parties have g-got."

"Are you sure?"

"Okay, okay, just don't k-k-kill me. Most are f-further behind, some ahead."

"Are you certain you are not lying?"

"Yes! I swear upon my life that I'm telling the truth."

"Alright. You may go." Istalir lowered his arm, and the captain ran into the forest.

"We must move quickly," said Istalir. We mounted our horses and trotted towards the rising sun.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Once we reach the Hadarac, we shall turn southeast and head towards the Beors, home of the Varden. We must hurry, though; anyone following us could find the Varden and tell Galbatorix. That reminds me; I must cast a spell obliterating our tracks.

He turned in his saddle and muttered something incoherent. The few hoof prints left on the dry forest floor disappeared.

"When we halt at the end of the day, I will teach you to fight. You are not as good as I had expected, but at least you have _some_ basic training. I refuse to return to the Varden with nothing to show but a common soldier."

"Can you teach me to use magic?"

"I do not know how to go about that. Elves are always born with the ability, so I have never seen one been taught to reach for the flow of magic. I have taught a few humans since I joined the Varden, but not to access magic, just to control it."

"Ah."

"In my experience, when a human first reaches for magic it is without thinking. They do not have to try, and it is usually in a desperate situation. Afterwards, they do have to try, although not so much as their knowledge increases."

"I hope I'll be able to use magic."

"I do too."

We rode in silence for awhile. I examined the forest around us, noting that there were many trees. The soil looked good for crops. There was not much vegetation on the floor in this area, probably because much of the sunlight was blocked out. The only low growing plants were near the path, which we were traveling about parallel to.

After a few hours of silent riding, the forest ended, rather abruptly.

In front of us was a vast desert. The Hadarac, covering about half of Alagaesia.

And we would have to cross it.

**A/N: I thought it was strange for Alan to let Istalir examine his thoughts so early, but I couldn't think of how else to do it. One review so far! Hooray! Please press that little button and review. It seems to want to be clicked, so click it.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I wrote most of this while listening to Homestuck music (). A lot of it's really good, and the story itself is fun to read too.**_  
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**Disclaimer: The idea of the stranger at the end is mostly from Ranger's Apprentice: The Lost Stories, which, when I last checked, belonged to John Flanagan.**

_Thwap! Whap! Crack!_

"Ow!" I exclaimed. Istalir had hit my shin with his stick.

"Guard yourself better! You cannot expect your enemy to only defend himself."

We had set up camp on the edge of the Hadarac. As promised, Istalir was sparring with me. I had not yet managed to last more than three seconds in a duel, and I only managed three by tripping over a rock, accidentally avoiding his swing.

"But not all my enemies will be elves. I hope none."

"True." Istalir considered for a moment. "I shall, as you would say, 'go easier on you.'"

I resumed my stance, with my right hand holding my stick diagonally in front of me, and my left near my chest.

"Move your legs further apart, and bend your knees. Also do not stand so straight; you do not want to give your opponent an easy target," Istalir instructed.

I followed his instructions. Istalir himself was very close to the ground, with one leg far behind him. He looked like some sort of ancient god, with the flowing white robe he had donned, and his elven features.

"You may begin," he said.

I tried to circle to his left, the side without the stick, but he turned gracefully so he was always facing me. I feinted to my left and spun to attack the right, but his stick was already there, and my feint hadn't even caused him to twitch. He blocked my strike, almost contemptuously, and thwacked my head.

"Ouch!" I jumped back, nursing my skull. My pride in my fighting skills had been destroyed quite a while ago. "How long have you been training to fight?"

"Nearly a two hundred years. I am a hundred ninety-two years old. I began at the age of 15."

"How am I supposed to beat you, than?"

"You're not. I doubt you ever will. But you can still become better. When you feinted, the intent was obvious in your eyes. It would be helpful if you did not decide it was going to be a feint until after you are almost committed, but that is difficult. It is easier, and usually just as effective, to learn how to not show your intent. I find it difficult to put into words how to do that, though. May I instruct you through thought?"

"Alright."

I felt the still unfamiliar sensation of another's mind. This time, I noticed that Istalir's consciousness had an eerie, haunting melody in the background, and asked about it.

_Do not reach to deep into the mind of an elf. It would mean insanity for a human._

I felt a strange memory that was not mine. Istalir was right; it was hard to put into words how to conceal your intentions. Thinking of it was considerably easier, just hard to understand.

Istalir withdrew from my mind. "Resume your stance," he said. "I shall attempt to imitate a human soldier's fighting style, strength, and such."

I took my position again. This time, I waited, allowing Istalir to attack first. He leapt at me, raising his stick to slice downward. I quickly stepped forward to attack his unprotected legs, and make it hard for him to effectively hit me, but his leap had been a feint. However, I managed to block his strike to my knee, and countered by rapidly spinning to the right and jabbing my stick at him. He jumped back out of the way, and I continued forward, attempting blows to his head, chest, and legs, but none of them landed. He thrust his stick towards my abdomen, but I evaded the weapon. As he was withdrawing the stick, I did a fancy twirling maneuver he had used in our first round, and succeeded in disarming him. I pointed my stick at his neck and said "Dead."

He smiled. "You should be able to defeat the average human soldier, but you still cannot vanquish an elf. You've made plenty of progress today. Let us move on to magic."

He sat down on a stone, staring into the fire, and I chose a tree stump a bit further away, in front of him.

"The ability to use magic is not something I can teach. Either you will discover it, or you will not. Until you do, or we reach the Varden, I will instruct you to defend your mind, and perhaps, if you show promise and seem trustworthy, how to attack the mind of another." He paused. "To defend your mind, just focus on something. One thing, to the exclusion of all else. It doesn't have to be important or physical; it could be a grain of sand or an emotion. Often, magicians recite random scraps of poetry to help them focus. I will teach you one such piece now.

_There was a man in Lamboray,_

_Who sat and talked to himself all day._

_Cackled and giggled and laughed did he_

_As he leapt of the bungalow tree._

It is obviously nonsense, but helpful in mental struggles. Remember it. If you cannot recall a poem, you can make something up, preferably something short and simple. Just repeat it many times. When you are ready, tell me."

I spent a while reviewing the techniques in my head. When I was done, I said "I'm ready."

I focused on a small piece of rock and began to recite the poem.

_A massive force was smashing against my mental barriers!_

_No! Must focus on rock!_

_Rock, rock, rock, rock, rock, rock, rock!_

The fire crackled and popped.

_What was tha—No! He's going to break in! Rock, rock, ro—Dammit, he's in my head!_

Istalir's mind left. "That was pretty good for your first time. Beginners are typically distracted easily, and when it's you're mind is first assaulted you typically notice too much about the attack itself. Prepare yourself again."

The rest of our session went mostly like that. He would attack me, I would defend for up to seven seconds, and once he defeated me he would give me new tips. After an hour of this, he produced some strips of meat. After we had eaten it, and drank the remaining water from our skins, which Istalir had filled at the stream from this morning, which had a tributary nearby. Realizing that we were low on supplies, Islalir left to hunt and refill our skins. He did something he called 'placing wards,' and told me I could go to sleep. I settled down into my blanket and drifted off into the land of dreams happily for the first time in months.

The next morning, I woke to find Istalir packing up our bags and erasing all signs of our passage.

"I hope to reach Furnost by the end of the day. We can rest and purchase supplies there, and from there we only have to cross a relatively small portion of the Hadarac to reach the Beors. Once we reach the Beors, it will be pretty easy to contact the Varden."

I got up and rolled up my small bundle of blankets, thin enough to fit in a small pouch on Istalir's belt, but very insulating. We mounted our horses and rode in a southerly direction, keeping the Hadarac in sight until we reached a large, gently sloping hill, close to which we found Furnost.

We dismounted three miles from the town, and Istalir changed into his leather tunic and pants. We decided I would pretend to be his servant, since I was already wearing rags. I smeared some dirt on my face, and Istalir used a spell to alter both our countenances. We walked toward the town on a small dirt path, which eventually led to the main gate. The place was not very well fortified, just a small wooden fence around a bunch of run-down buildings, surrounded by farmland.

Inside, I noticed a few wanted posters. My name and face was on a smaller one, with an insignificant reward, even for a poor farmer, of three crowns, but Istalir's was the largest besides someone named Brom. The reward for capturing Istalir was 15,000 crowns, and Brom 50,000, an unimaginable amount.

Istalir found the marketplace, four times larger than the one in Daret, my home. He purchased enough provisions for a week, two sets of clothes for each of us, a few packs, and another horse, to carry all the stuff.

We were among the only visitors to the town's one inn, the Purple Acorn. It had enough stable room for three horses, but ours was the only one. The bar felt crowded, with a low ceiling and eight tables. Two were occupied, one with a solitary hooded man, the other with four bulky soldiers of the Empire, obviously drunk. We rented one of the two rooms and sat down for dinner.

"Hey, you!" called one of the soldiers, seemingly more sober than the others. "What're you doing here? This little place rarely gets visitors."

"We're from Bullridge," Istalir responded. "We're on our way to Surda to trade."

"Trade, eh?" A particularly nasty looking soldier. "Shounds like trai_tor_ to me."

"I assure you, we are loyal citizens of the Empire."

"And whadda ya do?"

"I am a merchant, and my companion here is a farmer who decided to make a living in trade."

"Still seems sushpicious. Should we turn 'em in?"

"You're just drunk," said the soberer one. "There's nothing suspicious about them."

"Well, I wanna have some fun. Rough 'em up. Only way they'll larn resshpec and shtuff." He and two other soldiers advanced on us. To keep our cover, we backed up.

"I think you should mind your own business," said the man in the hood, who had a surprisingly deep voice.

"Don' talk ta me tha' way. Ah'm on offishal duchy, followin' ordahs from the king 'imself."

"It's your official duty to annoy people while drunk?"

"Wha—why ya little piece o' scum!" He advanced on the stranger, while his two companions kept us backed up against a wall.

In a smooth, practiced motion, the stranger stood, pulled out a massive longbow, put an arrow on the string, and tugged it back. The soldier backed up warily. Suddenly, a soft target to toy with had become a dangerous enemy.

"We'll report cha ta the king!"

"Hiding behind other people, are we?"

The soldier gave a snarl and charged. _Twang!_ The arrow flew from the bow, piercing the soldier's arm. In less than a second, the stranger had another arrow loaded and ready to fire. The three soldiers not wounded fled. The remaining one took a look around the room, warned us to watch our backs, and ran after his comrades.

"Hello," said the newcomer, who had a lean build. He was wearing a cloak that looked like good camouflage, and at his feet was a quiver of arrows. On his belt, he wore a short sword. "I presume you are Istalir and… the rescued prisoner?"

**A/N: I use cliffhangers too much, don't I? If you think so, you can tell me in a review. And I wish to thank , my only reviewer as of yet.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I forgot all about the Forsworn. Sorry for any confusion that may cause. I'll probably fix that later, once I stop being lazy.**

"How do you know who we are?" asked Istalir, drawing his sword and eying the stranger warily.

The stranger smiled. "Like you, I am an elven member of the Varden. I joined quite recently. I would have contacted you earlier, but I did not know for sure who you were."

"What are you doing here?" I inquired.

"It would be better if we could discuss things in the privacy of our minds."

"Hmm." Istalir thought for a moment. He looked at me. "Us two can probably hold him off for a while. But be careful." Cautiously, we opened our minds—or at least I did, I can only presume he did as well.

_My name is Elrun._ A strange new consciousness, vast and mysterious.

_How did you know to find us here?_ Istalir, seemingly calm and controlled.

_Weldon sent scouts to many places to find you, after he heard you had fled._ A small amount of contempt was detectable.

_He fled to rescue me,_ I thought.

_And who might you be?_ Much more contempt. I did not like this elf much so far.

_One of the King's prisoners, who the King seemed strangely interested in._ Istalir, interfering on my behalf. _But who is this Weldon you speak of?_

_Ah. I forgot. Your…isolation would have prevented you from learning of that, as it just happened. Brom decided he wanted to directly fight the Forsworn, and left the leadership of the Varden to Weldon, a mere human._

A shout reached our ears, and alarm bells began to toll.

_We'd best discuss this later. Unfortunately, we cannot stay as I'd hoped._

_And this has alerted Galbatorix to our position, and the general area of the Varden._

We rushed out of the building. Outside, I mounted a horse. Istalir left his, and grabbed our pack horse. Elrun began to run ahead, sprinting so fast he was a blur. I followed as fast as I could, while Istalir coaxed the pack horse into a fast trot.

Soon, I encountered a small group of dead soldiers, obviously the work of Elrun. I glanced over my shoulder to see the pack horse galloping towards me, and Istalir holding off ten guards. As I was looking back, I sped past the gate, and another clump of dead soldiers. I vaguely saw Elrun on the pass, who had turned to look at something above him.

A shadow passed over my head, blocking out the moonlight.

I looked up.

Two dragons flew overhead, one emerald, one white.

Terror filled my veins. I viciously dug my heels into my horse, willing it to go faster, but the green dragon landed ahead of me. My horse wheeled around, dropping me, and ran into the woods. Before I could follow it, the rider of the green dragon leapt at me, and I fell to the floor, unconscious.

I moaned. The side of my head was throbbing with pain.

"Are you ok?" asked a melodious voice, which still worsened my headache, despite its aforementioned melodiousness. It sounded like Elrun

I opened my eyes after a bit of nudging. I was strapped to the back of a flying dragon. Wind blew through my hair. It would have been exhilarating, except for the fact that I was again a captive of the King.

Lying next to me, looking at me with some concern, was Elrun. He was unbloodied, but still bound. Beyond that were massive white wings, with a tall, slender figure in between. A member of the Forsworn.

_After you were punched in the side of the head, your assaulter, Glaerun, proceeded to attack me with magic. Meanwhile, Enduriel defeated Istalir, and came to assist Glaerun,_ said Elrun, without asking me for permission to enter my mind.

_Where are we going?_

_Probably Uru'baen. Wherever the King happens to be._

_Is there anything we can do to escape?_

_Not really. We can struggle, and weaken our captors a bit, but not defeat them._

_How long will it take to get to Uru'baen?_ I noticed Elrun was more respectful than usual.

_A little over a day's flight._

_Perhaps we can escape if we stop, then._

_Perhaps. _He didn't sound very confident.

I lapsed into silence, contemplating the tortures Galbatorix probably had planned. After a couple hours, we landed in an enormous plain with little vegetation, and a couple hills to the west. The white rider, Enduriel, gave us each a piece of bread. It probably wasn't supposed to be much, but it was the highest quality bread I had ever had.

"Galbatorix is very angry," said Glaerun, a nasty look on his face. No one else said anything.

After a while, Enduriel left to hunt or something, and Glaerun drifted off into a strange, trancelike state.

_Can any of you untie your bonds?_ asked Istalir.

_No,_ I responded.

_There will probably be a spell preventing us, anyway, _said Elrun.

I twisted to look at my knot. It was on my chest, so my hands, which were behind my back, couldn't reach…but…maybe my mouth? I bent to grip the rope with my teeth. The knot flashed gold, and my head was thrown back, with a resounding crack. Glaerun's eyes flew open.

"Don't bother. The knots are enchanted," he said dismissively, and went back to sleep.

I lay down, trying to nurse my throbbing skull, and attempted to rest, but the thought of returning to prison made me anxious. What would Galbatorix do this time? Finally, I drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

Around midnight, I was awoken by swarm of bright lights approaching our camp.

_What are those?_ I asked Istalir, sending him an image.

_Spirits! _he said.

_Spirits, _said Elrun. _Oh no._

They turned to watch the multicolored lights get nearer, obviously worrying. I watched too, confused. I had no idea what spirits were, except for stories about evil ones infesting humans to create Shades. I'd never heard of a friendly spirit, but I hoped they existed.

When the lights got close, Glaerun awoke again.

"Spirits!" he yelped, half drawing his sword, then sheathing it again. He looked uncertain, almost scared.

The spirits sped up, and quickly surrounded our camp. They whirled around it, forming a multicolored maelstrom. We could barely see outside.

Enduriel arrived outside the camp, but when he tried to get through, the spirits flashed and he was flung back, landing limply. Glaerun's dragon attempted to get through, with a similar result. However, when I stepped into the maelstrom, I wasn't repelled.

Energy coursed through my veins, and my soul seemed to overflow with overpowering joy. I wanted to be terrified, but couldn't. They conveyed a strange group of feelings, leaving me with the impression that these amazing beings had been sent by some great power that the respected. The spirits left a feeling of hope in me and thrust me towards the hills I had seen earlier, which I now noticed had many caves.

I sprinted into one, unthinkingly following some primal instinct, and thinking Istalir and Elrun would follow.

However, when I reached the cave, I realized that was not the case. Apparently, the spirits had blocked them as well. I could make them out battling Glaerun, while the dragons warily eyed the spirits. Enduriel had tried to pursue me, but the spirits blocked him. I was alone, but I felt compelled to enter the cave.

Inside was a maze. I sprinted through the carefully carved tunnels for what felt like hours, not knowing why I did so, only that I must.

Eventually, I reached a round marble room with a circular pedestal in the middle. The pedestal had a single floating orb above it, contained by a purple field. My hand lifted and reached. I tried to stop my hand, to prevent it from touching this unknown field with unknown effects, but failed.

_No…_ I thought. _Must…not…succumb._

However, the overall benign, powerful feeling radiating from the orb was just too convincing. I could not bring my heart to believe something bad would come of this. It was a battle between my mind and my soul, and my soul was triumphing with ease.

The barrier simply disappeared with a fizz. My hand continued forward to touch the orb.

_Flash!_ My poorly constructed mental barriers were overwhelmed. A feeling of ecstasy swept through me, accompanied by the knowledge that I could do anything. My limbs seemed to fill with fire, and when it burned away they were stronger, thinner, more…elven.

My entire body felt strange, first hot, then cold, as if something was entering me. I screamed and screamed until the back of my throat began to bleed, and tried to scream more. I fell to my knees, quivering. The pain was unbearable. I wanted to die.

Finally, slowly, the agony faded away. I collapsed, twitching uncontrollably. Gradually, I began to calm down. Strangely, I felt invincible. I stood up slowly.

_Finally, a good host._ Wait, what?

_I have waited many millennia to find someone suitable._ Huh? Seemingly random thoughts came into my mind.

_I believe I shall prevent my thoughts from reaching you, noble human._

I staggered back, confused by the sudden change. My body felt different. I was more confident. When I raised my hand to look at it, it was much like that of Istalir, or Elrun. I was not sure how I felt about this. My body had been changed without my permission. But it was a good change, I supposed.

With a grinding sound, the pedestal in the middle of the room sunk into the ground. In its place, a shimmering sword appeared, along with a round silver stone. I unthinkingly reached for them, pocketed the stone, and picked up the sword, marveling at its balance and beauty. The pommel had a sparkling silver gem, which seemed to have endless depths one could spend days staring into. The handle was bound with silver wire. The hilt was relatively plain in shape, a rectangle whose ends were perpendicular to the rest of it, pointing in the same direction as the blade. These sharp points were about an inch. The blade itself seemed wavy, like water. It was double-edged. About two feet of it was perfectly straight, and the last one half or so feet tapered into a point.

Wonderingly, I swung it at a nearby rock, which appeared to have dislodged from a pillar. The sword was amazingly light, yet strong; the metal, combined with my new strength, effortlessly cut through a half foot of rock, which cracked in two. And I hadn't even swung very hard. Although I suppose it may have been a relatively soft rock.

I suddenly remembered Elrun and Istalir. They were still outside, battling the Forsworn! I sheathed my sword in the simple, but high quality scabbard that had somehow appeared at my side. I had just noticed it. It was wood, painted black, with silver metal capping the end.

I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the distractions. I sprinted out of the maze, moving much faster than I had coming in. I nearly smashed into a wall at first.

I burst out of the cave, stopping to assess the situation. The spirits had dispersed, and Glaerun, who had apparently managed to defend himself, had been joined by Enduriel, and now they were beating my friends easily, although their dragons were out cold.

I rushed in their direction, drawing my sword and letting out a hoarse yell. Enduriel stayed focused on the elves, but Glaerun turned to face me. I noticed my eyesight was so sharp, in the night, from nearly two hundred feet away, I could see his smirk. He loped in my direction, emerald blade ready. Soon, we were only thirty yards away.

Gathering my strength, I _leapt_, higher than ever before, nearly fifteen feet in the air. Glaerun's face betrayed his shock, as did his posture. He had dropped his hand to his side, with a loose grip on his sword. He barely raised it in time to block my blow from above, which sent him stumbling backwards. I spun around and jumped at him, traveling a horizontal distance of ten feet while staying only a food above the ground. My new sword crashed into his side, which was well-protected by enchanted armor, but still he flew back, colliding with the side of the hill. He dropped his sword, and his head lolled to the side. He was unconscious.

I turned my attention to Enduriel. He was holding his own against Elrun and Istalir. Neither side had the upper hand yet, but the dragons were beginning to stir. It was only a matter of time. I had serious doubts about my ability to defeat two dragons and a rider.

Shouting as loud as I could, not caring that it damaged my vocal cords more. Enduriel turned to face me, a startled expression forming on his face. Before he could recover, I rammed my shoulder into his ribcage, and the wind escaped from him in a sort of reverse gasp. Then, I whacked the side of his head with my pommel, rendering him unconscious. Apparently his wards had disintegrated by now. Unfortunately, I did not have the time to kill him, as the dragons were beginning to growl.

"Let's go!" shouted Istalir, and we raced off into the night.

**I hope that PB thing I just did works. FFN is being strange for me right now. Please review, as I am considering discontinuing the story if I don't have more than one reviewer by the time I get to ten chapters. I think the next chapter will be a sort of short filler chapter.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Another chapter. Bit short, though. Oh, and I now have a Beta. Bleevlee, who I actually know outside of FanFiction.**

I stumbled to a halt, panting. I sat on a tree stump, waiting for Elrun and Istalir to catch up, while reviewing what had happened. I had defeated two of the Forsworn! Somehow, that orb in the cave had increased my strength and speed, allowing me to sprint nearly ten miles faster than a horse could.

Istalir reached me first, gasping.

"What…happened?" he asked. "In the cave…we heard…you…scream."

"I touched…this weird orb," I responded. "It hurt at first. Worse than anything Galbatorix did. Then…when it stopped, I felt much more powerful…invincible.

_What about the sword?_ asked Elrun, who had caught up and heard me.

_I took it from a pedestal. I also found this strange silver stone._

_Your mind feels…different,_ commented Istalir.

_As if there is a more powerful being sharing your body, but we cannot truly sense him,_ added Elrun. _Also, the music that is at the edges of an elf's mind is here. It sounds…adventurous, and bold._ There was a new respect in his thoughts.

_Show me the rock,_ commanded Istalir.

_I wish to examine the sword,_ stated Elrun.

I handed the stone to Istalir first, noticing it was very hard. It was not made of silver, but a silver marble-like substance. He took it reverently. I then handed the weapon, belt and all, to Elrun.

_This…no…it can't be…_ Istalir stammered.

_What?_ I asked.

_It's…it's a dragon egg!_

I stared at it, my jaw slack. _Are you sure?_

Elrun turned his attention to it. _It is…_ Awe radiated from him. _We thought there were only three eggs left, all in Galbatorix's possession. And none were silver._ _This is…amazing. And the sword in nearly as valuable. The energy stored in the pommel…Someone could live millennia, using only that. I can't even imagine…_

Istalir took the sword, holding it gingerly. _Now I know for sure I was right to rescue you._

They handed the items back to me.

_Who shall keep watch?_ I asked.

_I shall set a spell about us, to warn us of any who wish to harm us, or capture us, _Istalir said.

After muttering a few words, he drifted off to sleep. After staring at the stars for a half our, Elrun followed suit. Now I was the only one awake.

I glanced at the elves. They were in a trance-like state, eyes still open, sitting upright. I wondered if I would sleep the same way now.

Eventually, my mind drifted off into another land. I was still aware of all that was happening to my physical body, but I was dreamt, of long ago battles, other people. I think they were memories of the thing using me as a host. I saw a bloodstained battleground, a grand city made of marble, silver, and gold, with glorious temples nearly a mile high, and a mighty council of dragon riders, keeping the peace across Alagaesia. I saw back to before that, mindless savages, our ancestors, discovering farming, and forming ancient civilizations that fought with one another, until the present kingdoms were created.

All of this was relatively blurry, but suddenly I was thrust into a dream that was much more vivid.

I lay sprawled on a sandy battlefield. Above me, seven dragons soared in the fiery sky, primal roars terrifying some deep part of me. Two men approached me. One was young, with fire and hate in his eyes. His face was scarred, but it had once been noble, with slanted features like that of an elf. The other man was much calmer, and reserved, but obviously more dangerous. An aura of darkness and evil surrounded him.

He raised his hand suddenly, and shouted at the sky.

Thunder crackled and lightning flashed. The world shook with the awesome power of this strange man. My veins turned to ice.

Then, another man appeared. His face looked serene and wise, but his eyes spoke of a hidden power. Confidently, he too raised his arm, and the thunder stopped. The ice left my veins, and—

_Crack!_ I shot up, jumping to my feet, now fully awake. I looked for the source of the disturbance.

The silver stone was shaking. A long crack had appeared in the side.

Elrun and Istalir were awake, too.

_The egg is hatching!_ exclaimed Istalir.

_But for who?_ wondered Elrun. _Certainly not me; I didn't touch it._

_I think…I think it's hatching for Alan,_ said Istalir.

Cautiously, I crept forward. With another sharp crack, the egg split in two.

A silver dragonling stepped outside.

It was still wet, but…marvelous. Immediately, I knew it had hatched for me. The scales looked soft, but sparkled with an inner brilliance. Its eyes…no. His eyes—somehow, I knew it was a he—were large, in comparision with his head. They were innocent looking, but intelligent.

I reached forward to touch it, and a blinding light filled my field of vision.

**Oh yay. Now please review! I beg of thee!**

**It's fine if you've reviewed before though.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Partially un-beta-ed, because of an inability to contact him/her in a practical way. **

I opened my eyes and blinked. A harsh light forced me to shut my eyes again. I felt groggy.

A strange feeling reached me, as if from far away. It was sort of like the feeling I got when my father came home from the market in the fall, when the traders came. As if something I had been waiting for had finally happened.

That was a strange thing to think.

Frowning, I tried to remember how I had gotten here. I was on hard, rocky terrain. It seemed to be noon.

Gradually, I recalled a dream, with a magnificent silver dragon hatchling. I had reached out to touch it, and there had been a bright flash of light. Then, there had been nothing. I assumed I had woken up.

I yawned and sat up, looking around. I was in a small clearing, in the midst of a small forest without many large trees. To my right were a small campfire, and a sheathed sword. On my left, Elrun sat, eyes open, but unfocused, accompanied by—what?

The silver dragonling from my dream!

Elrun shook himself from his stupor.

"You're awake. Do you feel okay?"

"Yes, what happened?"

"I must confess my amazement. I never thought I'd see a human with such power—no offense intended.

I gestured for him to go on, glancing at the baby dragon, who seemed rather interested in me.

"After we fled, the dragon hatched. You touched it, and blacked out. I believe I have read about this; when a dragon is first touched by its rider, the rider is typically knocked unconscious by an outburst of strong magic. The affects are, for humans, a gradual acquiring of elf-like characteristics, and, for all riders, a silvery mark on the palm used to touch the dragon. This mark is called the gedwëy ignasia. The rider also eventually gains the ability to wield magic, primarily through the gedwëy ignasia, which often glows when particularly powerful magic is used. Also, a bond forms between dragon and rider. They can share thoughts, as if they were one being. At first, this is not so noticeable, as the dragon is not intelligent enough to form anything besides emotions, but soon, the dragon and rider can communicate within an ever-growing distance, as their bond strengthns. Once the dragon is at this stage of development, it chooses its name. Usually, it can carry its rider while flying by six months. The dragon continues growing as long as it lives."

I sat for a while, absorbing the new knowledge. I glanced at my palm—sure enough, there was a silvery mark.

Curiously, the dragon walked up to me. It sniffed a bit at my legs, and then cautiously prodded my side, seeking attention. Carefully, I patted its head. Once I had determined nothing like that night was going to happen, I stroked its scales gently. It purred in pleasure.

"How long was I out?" I inquired.

"The dragon hatched last night. Oh, by the way, Istalir is foraging."

"Ah."

I went back to stroking the dragon's scales. It nipped at my finger playfully. Grinning slightly, Elrun tossed me a small strip of smoked beef. I waved it above the hatchling, just out of reach. It made an attempt at reaching it, but, upon failure, gave me a look of such self-pity that I had to give it to him.

Happily, it devoured the strip. A sensation of satisfaction reached me. After being fed a couple more pieces, it curled up in my lap and promptly began snoring softly.

I almost snorted in amusement.

"Funny little fellow, isn't he?" Elrun commented.

I nodded in agreement. As if sensing he was being talked about behind his back, the dragon shot up and headbutted me in the stomach.

"Ow!" I gasped. I had no idea it was so strong! It had knocked the wind out of me.

As I recovered, and attempted not to swear while doing so, the dragon smugly plopped down on my lap again, and fell asleep. Elrun was choking with laughter.

"What's going on that's so funny?" Istalir's amused voice reached us.

"Nothing," I lied, upon which the dragon stirred slightly.

"The dragon's assaulting Alan," corrected Elrun.

Istalir crouched down on my right.

"Pretty entertaining little guy, isn't he?"

"Entertaining? Violent, more like."

At this, the dragon glared at me from its lap again. His message was clear.

_I'm too lazy to bother with you now, but if you insult me again, prepare to face my wrath!_

I shook my head, holding back a chuckle.

"Where are we?"

"About five miles northeast of Furnost. The Forsworn had been taking us straight to Urû'baen," responded Elrun.

"Our plan is to reach the large forest southwest of Furnost, and travel as far south as we can while remaining inside it. Then we will cross the Hadarac, and enter the Beors, where we will be safe with the Varden," added Istalir.

"Well, what are we waiting for?"

"You. So, get up and let's go, unless you are fatigued."

"I'm fine. I just need a small lunch while we ride. Did you find anything?"

"A small rabbit, for the dragon, and some fruits and roots, which will be our dinner."

The two elves quickly and efficiently erased all signs of our presence, while I grabbed our few provisions, storing the pocket of my cloak. As we now all had enormous speed and stamina, we simply jogged. The only difficulty was the dragon. I had to carry it—well, him, as Istalir had said notified me—carefully, which slowed our progress. I felt an uncertainty coming from him about why he was slowing us, but he was sorry.

Because it was already noon when I'd awoken, we were still a few miles from the forest when night fell. We decided to keep going, though. A few hours later, we arrived in the forest, upon which we found a suitable place to set up camp. Istalir used magic to cook the rabbit, since it was already late. The dragon, having eaten half his weight in rabbit, fell asleep first. Soon after, Elrun drifted off as well. Istalir put up a few enchantments around our camp, and fell into a trance about the same time I entered my waking dreams. This time, they were all normal dreams.

I stretched my arms and yawned. Blinking, I looked around our campsite. Istalir was awake already, and had began erasing signs of our passage. The dragon was devouring a recently killed rabbit.

"Did he catch that himself?" I asked.

"Yes. He is learning quickly. Oh, that reminds me, your nightly training needs to begin again," he said, glancing my way. "Tonight we shall see how good you are with weapons. If we find your proficiency satisfactory, we shall go on to magic. If not, we shall alternate between the two."

Elrun woke up, having heard voices. Istalir and I had to explain to him about the training I had been doing.

"Do you have any experience with a bow?" he asked, after we finished. "I believe it is a useful skill."

"I have hunted before, but not often," I replied.

"Good. Do you wish to learn archery, in addition to swordsmanship and magic?"

"Yes," I said. He glanced at Istalir.

"Do you think it would be prudent, or wasteful?"

"It could come in handy," Istalir acknowledged. "Tonight we shall teach both archery and swordsmanship, then. Let's go, now."

I picked up the dragon, which immediately snuggled up in my arms, ready to sleep again.

"You're getting heavier," I complained.

We set off at a steady trot through the forest. It was difficult to travel, as there were no paths in this area. Plants, vines, and other undergrowth impeded our progress. The dragon stared about in fascination at the various plants.

After about five hours, we stopped for lunch and a brief rest, as it was the hottest part of the day. The dragon scuttled off into the woods, with me following at a distance, and quickly caught a small mouse. Happily, it scampered back to camp, eager to show off. After receiving a few pats from me, it sat down to eat.

Elrun caught a brief nap, then went foraging. Meanwhile, Istalir and I chewed our last pieces of lamb. Istalir expressed distaste for meat for some reason, but there was not much he could do. He had to eat. He cast a few spells to detect intruders, and began to meditate. I leaned against a tree trunk and fell into a state somewhere between my waking dreams and full awareness. Faintly, I wondered about all these elven things happening. I had not had much time to think upon them.

Soon, Elrun came back with a bundle of edible plants and roots. Istalir and he split up the burden, while I scooped up the dragon, who was annoyed at the interruption to his sleep. We began our weary jog again.

At twilight, we stopped, unable to find a clearing this time. There was barely enough light to find firewood, but we did, and Istalir lit it with a brief spell. Elrun set up wards around us, and began to cook the herbs. The dragon had caught another rodent when we stopped, and was devouring it, watching with interest as Istalir and I drew our swords.

"What about the edges?" I asked. "Won't they harm us?"

"Gëuloth du knífr," he muttered, with his fingers over the blade. A gold spark flashed from his hands to the sword. "It is now dulled. Hand me your sword, and I shall do the same."

"Can it be undone?" I asked, still holding my sword.

"Of course. I would not have done it otherwise," Istalir scoffed. I handed him my sword, hilt-first.

"Gëuloth du knífr," he said again. Nothing happened. He frowned, and tried again, brow furrowed in concentration.

"Your sword has some sort of protection against spells," he said.

"Now what?" I asked. We could not spar like this.

He considered for a moment. "Elrun, may Alan borrow your sword?" he asked.

Elrun unsheathed his blade, and dulled it. "Very well, but be careful. It belonged to my father."

"I shall treat it with respect," I replied. "Besides, it's only for now."

I took the proffered hilt. It was a bit thin for me, and the handle was shorter than my own sword. The elegant curves did not fit me very well, but I could tell it was a good weapon. It just didn't suit me.

"Let us begin," said Istalir.

I began circling to his left, hoping to strike at his unprotected side. Grinning, he tossed the sword to his left hand, and struck at me. I was unprepared for his attack, and his sword almost slipped through my guard.

_Block! Strike! Dodge! Parry! Jab! _I remembered he had been holding back in the last session. I seemed stronger and faster, but he was much more agile and experienced. He cavorted around me, seeming to anticipate my every move, finding chinks in my defense I did not know of. I whirled, swinging at his feet, but he leapt, and landed heavily on my blade, causing me to drop it to the floor. He pointed his sword at my head.

"You are plenty strong and fast enough," said Elrun, picking up his sword from the ground. Both elves removed the spells on their blades, and Elrun cleaned his reverently.

"You just need more experience," said Istalir. "From now, Elrun and I shall take turns instructing you. Elrun in the art of archery, I in swordsmanship and magic. Elrun, can you teach Alan the Rimgar, so that he may practice every morning?"

Elrun nodded, and proceeded to teach me a sequence of poses which stretched my every muscle to its utmost. First, I brought my hands from my side to above my head, and reached down, trying to touch my toes. Then I sprung backwards.

"Move slowly, steadily. It must be a controlled movement," he said.

I grunted, unable to do much more because of the effort I was exerting.

Elrun was satisfied after what he called the first level. I was amazed that there were more.

Exhausted, I slumped against a tree trunk and was about to fall into my waking dreams, when Elrun interrupted me.

"You must practice that every morning, as Istalir and I remove traces of our camp. For the first few days, I will assist you, but you must memorize the poses of the Dance of Snake and Crane. Tomorrow night, we should reach the end of the forest. Istalir will begin to teach you magic. It is very late now; past midnight, in fact. I wish you a good night's sleep."

Then, my consciousness left me, and I drifted into my waking dreams.

**A/N: ****I beg of thee, O glorious reader sent to me from the Gods. I implore that thy revieweth this epic of which I speak, that, in hopes of a truly grandeur readerbase, has convinced Us, the editor, to magick a truly persuading speech out of mindless inspiration and a definitive concern for the author's pitiful readerbase, who, if existent, dareth not show its face in a review. I beg of thee, however, to. And, if the noble request was to be fulfilled, We would truly consider performing this difficult feat every chapter, with hopes that it shalleth bolster the people into reviewing this truly spectacular work of fine art by my companion.**

**I hope you understood that. It was written by my beta a week ago.**

**Three more chapters unless I get more reviewers. If I end up stopping, more reviews in the future could still encourage me-that is to say, I will continue after Chapter 10 as soon as I get a few more reviewers, whenever that might be.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I took a break recently, and now I'm uploading this, which I did mostly in the beginning of my break. Two more chapters unless this becomes more popular.**

I stretched and yawned. I was still weary from the stress of the Rimgar, but the night had refreshed me. Although the sleep I had been getting recently couldn't be considered satisfactory, it was far better than my fitful nights in prison.

"Oomph!" I gasped, as a compact, heavy object smashed into my abdomen. The dragon had come out of nowhere, hurtling into my stomach and knocking the breath out of me. A vague apologetic feeling came, along with an image of him sleeping in a tree, and one of later trying to fly.

I picked him up and put him down next to me. Looking around, I realized, with a small amount of surprise, that I had been the first to awaken. Istalir and Elrun were still sitting.

I shrugged, and began to pick up our supplies. I erased what tracks I could, but I was a novice at that sort of thing, and when I finished even I could have seen people had been there.

Remembering the instructions Elrun had given the night before, I began the Rimgar. Palms at my sides, I breathed deeply, calming myself. Slowly, I extended my arms above my head. I brought my hands together, and held that pose for a few seconds. Then, I reached down towards my toes. I still could not reach them, which I found frustrating. It was certainly an improvement over last night, though.

Composing my thoughts again, I leapt backward.

"You need to bend your knees and start to lean back before the actual jump. What you're doing now is more of a small hop straight up," came Elrun's voice.

I nearly fell over in surprise. "You startled me,"

"My apologies." He looked around. "Did you try to cover our tracks?"

"Yes," I said proudly.

"Oh. Not very good, although that is to be expected on your first try. I'll teach you how, after you complete the Rimgar."

Obediently, I began again. It was not as hard as it had been, but I still had much difficulty meeting Elrun's polite demands. Soon, even muscles I never knew I had had all been stretched to their limit, and Elrun still insisted that I try harder. He eventually realized I could do no better, and began to teach me to evade trackers.

"You have to make it look natural," he said. "You made it too orderly. The small branches and other such things cannot be spread evenly. Most of the branches should be near trees—most! Not all. The rocks can be spread a bit more evenly, I suppose. Try not to move things around too much. Only get rid of the remainder of our fire for now. I shall take care of the rest."

I finished my task quickly, and watched carefully as he walked about, removing signs I'd never thought of. Broken branches, from the mock fight. Gouges high in a tree, caused by the dragon. Most of them would be unnoticeable, I knew, but we did not know how good the king's trackers were.

As Elrun worked, Istalir woke up. He looked towards the sun, then turned towards me, startled.

"I should not have rested so long. Now we will not leave the forest as soon as I had planned." He paused, briefly in thought. "In the future, if I am still dreaming when you awake, please rouse me."

"Okay," I replied.

Elrun finished his work, and grabbed a bundle of roots. He greeted Istalir and looked about our camp.

"The ashes of the fire must be spread better," he said. I had completely forgot to scatter them. "And the remnants of our firewood shouldn't be spread about the clearing. Toss it into the woods, in different directions, after removing the blackest areas. I would usually be far more careful, but being in a hurry restricts our time."

He quickly erased all signs of a fire. The dragon leapt into my arms, sensing we were about to leave. We all had the few remaining bites of last night's dinner, and began to jog.

The day's travel was much the same as that of the previous day. We stopped for a brief lunch in a copse of evergreen trees. Once the sun had set, we found a nice flat area to sleep in. Elrun began to make a stew, and Istalir found a few rocks for us to sit upon. My instruction in the use of magic began.

"First, tell me what you know about magic," Istalir said.

"Magic can be used to affect things through the use of the object's true name. It is usually quicker than physically doing something, but things still require the same amount of energy as they would normally."

"Pretty good, I suppose. What happens when you use more energy than you have?"

"I sort of thought you just couldn't."

"No. You die. An important ability for magicians is to know their limits."

I pondered this for a moment.

"Now, we shall test your defenses," Istalir continued, immediately beginning a mental assault. A wall of force slammed into me.

Frantically, I raised my shields. I focused on the first thing I saw: a small twig on the ground.

_Twig,_ I thought, filling my head with the image. Nothing else entered my mind.

Suddenly, the twig twitched.

_What the...an insect!_ _No, focus! Twig!_ I scrambled to block Istalir out. He changed tactics then, coming at me as a spear instead of a wall. I was not sure how that worked—No! Focus!

I employed every trick I knew—which wasn't many—to slow his progress. Finally, I found a random image in my head of my home. My farm. A great wave of sadness washed through me. Would I ever see my family again? Were they ever still alive? What if Galbatorix had captured him? The feeling consumed me, creating and insurmountable defense. In some far off corner of my mind, I noticed that Istalir was smashing against my mind, but the fleeting thought quickly disappeared. Then, he tapped me on the knee, the signal that it was over.

I lowered my barriers, still thinking of my home. How could I have forgotten them, these past months? At least while I was in prison I had an excuse; my mind had been so addled I barely remembered who I was. But after I escaped...

"That was pretty good," Istalir said, breaking me out of my reverie. "Next time, try something more familiar to focus on. Your family was a good idea. You could also do things like a bag, or some part of your sword, or perhaps your fingernail."

I nodded.

"Alright. Now I shall attempt to teach you offensive magic." He considered for a moment, muttering to himself. "Hmm...magic...or attacking mentally..."

Elrun, who had finished cooking, brought some soup over to us. As I drank mine, Istalir began a discussion with him.

"What do you think is more difficult: reaching out with your mind, or using magic? I don't know which I should teach him first."

"Perhaps you could begin with the basics of the Ancient Language, and then teach him to extend his consciousness."

Istalir nodded slowly. "Good idea."

He turned to me. "Do you know of the Ancient Language?"

"No."

"It was the language of the Gray Folk. Inexplicably, they bound it with magic so-Agh. We do not have time for this. The true name of an object is its name in the Ancient Language. I assume you do not know your letters?"

"My father found it of little use. He claimed it was only important to officials who needed to sign documents and such."

"Most farmers would agree. I shall arrange for you to be taught once we reach the Varden. For now, name an object, and I shall tell you its true name."

I looked around.

"Flame," I said, looking at our campfire.

"Istalrí," he responded. "My given name was taken from that word."

I carefully archived this new knowledge. "Dragon."

"Skulblaka, meaning 'scale flapper.'"

"Earth."

"Deloi."

"Lightning."

"Kveykva."

"Sword."

"Sverd."

"Burn."

"Eldrvarya."

"Fly."

"Flauga."

We continued this for half an hour, stopping every five minutes or so for me to review. Then, we went to sleep.

**A/N: Sadly, I am unable to conveniently contact my beta-thingy at the moment, so I shall have to improvise a sucky paragraph begging for reviewers.**

**O glorious reader, I beg of thee, please revieweth this story by pressing the sacred, forlorn button which is located below this speech, and typeth a review, convincing me to continueth my typing of the epic which I am creating solely for thy enjoyment, and, if thou do as I plead, I shall continue this story, which shalt soon die without your aid. So please, I beseech thou, press the button and end its loneliness! If such a thing would happeneth(?), I, your humble author, would even go as far as to attempt an epic speech, such as this one, with every chapter I shall addeth! Listen to the message, O Magnificent One.**

**Hmm. I would prefer something better than that, but I want to make this chapter available to my wonderful reader(please review so I can add an 's' here!) now, rather than waiting for my beta.**


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